


Posy

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was all the postcard said, just: ‘Hey’ No comma to pause and turn it into the introduction of a letter. No period to end the thought. It was nothing but an impulse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Posy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was written for a fanart prompt challenge from Hoskky on tumblr. The story took on a bit more life than I'd expected. ^^;
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Flynn hefted the scepter that was to be part of his Prince Crescendo costume. Estelle had just finished it, and it had turned out really well. Gently, he touched the surface of the large, blue gem on the end of it. That hadn’t been there when last he’d seen her painting the dowel gold.

They were in her cosplay room. Estelle was sitting at her sewing table before the silent machine. Layers of fabric were bunched up in her lap being pinned together just so in preparation for when she’d stitch them together. Against the opposite wall were drawers full of odds and ends—pins, bobbins, ribbons, buttons, and a hundred other little components. One corner was devoted to clear plastic storage bins full of fabric. Normally, Estelle kept the room perfectly tidy. They were a little over a week out from a convention, however, and drawers stood open, chalk and pins littered the table, fabric spilled out of bins, and Flynn had spotted four pairs of scissors lying around since he’d come in.

On the plus side, things seemed to be going relatively smoothly. There’d only been three mad dashes to the craft store, and Estelle’s wig had been easily located online, and successfully modified. She really was getting very good at what she did.

“How did you make the crystal?” Flynn asked her.

“Clear casting resin and dye. Judith gave me some tips.”

“She’s your cosplay friend? The one you met online?”

“Yes. She’s taught me a lot. Without her, I couldn’t have done half so well on my cosplays.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He set the scepter down much more carefully than he probably needed to, but he’d learned his lesson about underestimating the fragility of props. “Do you need help with anything?”

“We’ll need to do one last fitting for you soon, but I’m almost done. I’m so excited about next week! I finally get to meet Judith in person! Thank you again for going to the con with me.”

“My pleasure.”

He turned around to see where the cosplay he would be wearing hung from a little hook over the door. The detail Estelle had been able to recreate in it was amazing. It was hard to believe she’d done it all on her own.

“Where is Judith from, again?”

“She used to live near Mount Temza.”

He nodded. That was clear across the country. It was no wonder Estelle was excited to get to meet her at this convention.

“Just recently, though, she moved to Dahngrest.”

\--------------------

Flynn dropped into the driver’s seat of his car, pulled the door shut, and slotted his key into the ignition. For a minute, he simply sat there, staring straight out the windshield without actually seeing the fluorescent-lit parking lot beyond. When he finally moved, it was to lunge suddenly to the side, yanking open his glove box and rifling around inside until he pulled out a postcard.

The photo on the front was of a rather unremarkable view down a deserted city street to where it spilled out onto a busy one. The only features of note were the brilliant but chipping layer of turquoise paint that coated the side of one brick building, and a pot trailing bright purple flowers off of a fire escape. Begonias, he thought idly, though he was fairly certain he wouldn’t know a begonia from a carnation if asked. ‘WELCOME TO DAHNGREST’ was printed in the bottom right-hand corner of the postcard in a cheap, Word Art effect.

He studied the image. There were people passing by in the off-center intersection, but they were blurry and hard to distinguish. There was no one familiar. He’d checked.

He flipped the postcard over.

_Hey_

That was all it said, just: ‘Hey’ No comma to pause and turn it into the introduction of a letter. No period to end the thought. It was nothing but an impulse. Flynn was surprised it had ever even been sent, but on the other half of the card was his address written in that same, familiar handwriting, and above that, a smudged stamp and the seal of the Dahngrest postal service. The message, if it was actually supposed to be one, had made it into the mail and been delivered to his door four years ago.

To be fair, the card’s very existence was a message in and of itself, or it had been back then, back during all the confusion. It had been mostly _his_ confusion, he remembered, his worry, his anger. He’d been the one raising a fuss at the police station even though it hadn’t been his place to do so.

‘I’m alive,’ the card had told him when it had arrived. That had been three days after Yuri’s eighteenth birthday, and almost two months after he’d disappeared.

\-------------------

The convention was being held at a large hotel in downtown Dahngrest. Estelle had taken care of booking the room and pre-registration. Flynn drove. The two hour trip went by in no time.

In the city, Flynn scanned the crowds. It had become a habit whenever he came to Dahngrest. As they neared the downtown area, he saw increasing numbers of other people obviously in town for the convention: people with neon hair, Lolita dresses, and in full cosplay. There were familiar characters, but no familiar faces.

Gamers and anime fans were swarming about outside the hotel and in the lobby. Flynn stood guard over their luggage while Estelle got them checked in. Signs next to the elevator bay pointed the way to Registration. Tempting, but the suitcases and garment bags had to be put away first.

In their room, Flynn took longer than Estelle liked getting everything put away. He smiled as he carefully hung up the outfits she had made for them in the closet. Maybe they would change and go down as Prince Crescendo and Polka in a little while. At the moment, however, Estelle was practically bouncing in her eagerness to get registered and begin enjoying the convention.

Back down on the ground floor, they took their places in line along with people dressed in anything from t-shirts and jeans to ball gowns. Estelle watched the crowds, excitedly pointing out cosplayers. Final Fantasy, Mario, Metal Gear, Street Fighter, Team Fortress, Mortal Kombat—representatives from dozens of games and franchises filled the hall in the form of cosplayers.

Flynn watched them go by, quietly impressed by some of the craftsmanship and surprised to see a few characters from old or niche titles wander past. Though he cosplayed mostly for Estelle’s sake, he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. However, the main draw of the convention for him would be the game and dealers’ rooms. He was making up a list of titles to look for when Estelle pointed out someone from the crowd.

“There’s Judith!”

She was easy enough to pick out. She and Estelle had both agreed to create Eternal Sonata cosplays. Judith had to be the girl dressed as Viola. Even from halfway down the hall, Flynn could see that she had an eye for detail. She’d need it to manage any of the characters from the game, really. He’d heard that some of the more talented cosplayers could sometimes be elitist, but Estelle had only ever spoken well of Judith, and Flynn was glad of it. As she made her way towards them, having spotted Estelle waving, Flynn caught sight of the person following her and went still.

A young man his own age shadowed Judith. He was dressed as Jazz, all browns and cream, a simpler costume compared to the others, and he was watching the crowds to either side of him with interest. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He’d grown it out. His eyes would be gray, Flynn knew.

As they came within earshot, Estelle grabbed Flynn’s arm. “She’s got a Jazz with her!”

The sound of his character’s name caught his attention, and he finally looked right at them. The grin that had been spreading across his face winked out, erased, as if he needed to build the smile that replaced it from scratch. It was a shallow mask, but an opaque one. He looked Flynn right in the eye.

“Hey,” Yuri said.

\--------------------

Yuri hadn’t quite been eighteen when he’d disappeared during the summer before their senior year in high school. Once he’d realized that Yuri was gone, Flynn had been frantic. He hadn’t believed at first that Yuri had run away. He’d left behind his phone and his wallet. His foster father had claimed that nothing else was missing, either, not that the old drunk would have known even if he’d actually looked. He’d only filed a missing persons report because Flynn had kept after him to do so, and even then, Flynn had had to continuously keep after the police to be sure they were following up. Yuri hadn’t exactly been a stranger down at the precinct.

Nothing had ever turned up and, on the day of Yuri’s eighteenth birthday, he had been declared legally an adult and the case had been set aside. Nothing Flynn had said had changed their minds.

Then, three days after that, he’d received that postcard from Yuri, an awkward greeting with no return address. He’d waited for Yuri to contact him again, but there’d been no further word. Finally, one Sunday late that autumn, Flynn had gotten sick of waiting. He’d driven to Dahngrest and searched its streets for the turquoise building and the purple begonias. Eventually, he’d found a souvenir shop that sold the postcards. No one in the store remembered Yuri, but they’d told Flynn how to find the street in the picture. He’d gone there wondering if the postcard was a clue, some stupid game Yuri had been playing. He’d been furious and so anxious that he’d felt sick to his stomach.

He had found the street. The turquoise building had been repainted in a color that was a little too pink to be terra cotta, and there had been no sign of the begonias. Flynn had spoken with the office staff of the apartments pictured, he’d checked the tenant directories next to the doors. No one had recognized his description of Yuri. None of the names had been his. There hadn’t even been a set of matching initials. If Yuri had been sending Flynn a clue, either it had been too vague, or Flynn had waited too long to follow it.

\----------------

People did not make way for Flynn as he strode down the hall. At least they weren’t asking for pictures anymore, though. His wrath might have its limits, but it was of some use. He tightened his grip on the scepter, wanting to hit something with it. Hit some _one_. Yuri. He wanted to hit Yuri with it, wanted to beat the hell out of him.

Currently, Yuri was following along behind him. He wasn’t saying anything, but Flynn knew he was there. He kept catching glimpses while turning corners. It was an aggravation that was quickly approaching infuriating.

Numb didn’t really describe how he’d felt during that first meeting in the registration line. It was almost the opposite of what he’d gone through. Everything from back then—his friendship with Yuri, the shock of his sudden disappearance, the anger, the _fear_ , the years of worrying and wondering—all of it had come back to him all at once. He hadn’t known what to feel, hadn’t been able to express anything past the crush of memory and emotion. He’d just stood there, blankly, while Judith had introduced Yuri.

Estelle had recognized the name, of course. There had been an awkward moment where Judith had realized that something was up and no one had known quite what to say. Luckily, she and Yuri had been called away to be photographed, and Estelle had promised to get in touch with her a little later. With that, they’d gone their separate ways.

Immediately after registering, Flynn and Estelle had gone back up to their room. It had been a strategic retreat. He’d needed to regroup.

Estelle had been apologetic. She’d had no idea that Judith even _knew_ Yuri, much less that he would be attending with her. She had asked if Flynn was all right. Something about his answer must have confirmed for her that there wasn’t going to be a joyful reunion. She’d told him that he didn’t have to cosplay with them. She’d said that if he didn’t feel like staying the weekend anymore that she wouldn’t mind if he went home and just came back to pick her up on Sunday. She’d even offered to pay for the extra gas.

He’d told her that he didn’t mind staying, she’d worked so hard on the costumes, after all, and besides, he’d gotten over all of that long ago.

She hadn’t quite believed him, but she hadn’t argued. She’d just taken her costume, wig, and makeup bag into the bathroom to get changed as Flynn had pulled his outfit out of the closet.

Every time he had put on the costume before, he had felt a little thrill of excitement at becoming a character from one of his favorite games. He hadn’t felt that when he’d changed then. Prince Crescendo wasn’t strong enough to overcome the emotions and memories that were steadily eating away at his protective barrier of shock.

They’d gone back down to the convention floor and found Judith and Yuri surrounded by a small crowd of photographers. As they’d joined in and posed for pictures, Flynn had kept sneaking glances at him. He saw the familiar old grin that promised mischief, the smile that dismissed the unimportant. Yuri posed with his sword, feet apart, leaning forward as if prepared to lunge, and Flynn saw him five years ago during a game of flag football in gym class. Yuri licked his lips, and Flynn remembered him sitting in a booth at a restaurant and gesturing with his spoon as he talked, a parfait on the table in front of him. When he looked down to adjust his gloves, Flynn saw him bent over a book. He turned away, and Flynn saw him asleep on the couch in the Scifo living room. All those fragments of memories came back, but he couldn’t picture Yuri the way he’d last seen him four years ago. Had he missed something? Should he have known what was about to happen?

As soon as he was able to break away from the group, he had. The girls hadn’t even noticed. Yuri had, of course, but Flynn hadn’t expected that Yuri would come after him.

They hit a relatively empty expanse of hallway and Flynn stepped off to the side and turned to face him.

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you’re walking in front of me.”

“Is that it? Then please, be my guest.” He waved Yuri on in the direction he’d been heading, intending at that point to simply turn around and go back to his room.

Yuri shrugged. “This is where I was headed.”

They stood in a bend in the hallway empty of panel rooms or even booths. Flynn snorted.

“I forgot what a pain you are to deal with. I didn’t miss that.” Lie. Once he’d realized that Yuri was gone, he’d missed everything.

“So then there were other things about me that you _did_ miss?”

“Leave me alone, Yuri. As I recall, you’re actually pretty good at that.”

As he turned to go, Yuri grabbed his wrist. Rounding on him, fist already raised because he’d been looking for any excuse, Flynn was caught off-guard by a shriek.

“Oh my _God_! You guys are, like, my OTP!”

A girl had come around the corner and was beaming at them, a camera clutched at the ready. He felt Yuri’s grip loosen.

“OTP?” Yuri asked.

“Lemmie get a picture! Jazz, can you, like, kiss his hand?”

“Oh.” There was a sudden understanding in the sound, and Yuri smirked. “Gotcha.”

Turning his smirk onto Flynn, he knelt with a mocking ‘Your Highness,’ and kissed the knuckles of Flynn’s hand. The girl actually squeaked just before the camera flashed. Flynn could feel his face heating up, and it only worsened as Yuri raised his gaze to meet Flynn’s eyes without taking his lips from where they were pressed against the glove.

Flynn tried to yank his hand back, shoved Yuri hard enough to knock him to the floor when he wouldn’t let go, and fled.

\--------------------

How many times had he been back to Dahngrest since that first trip? How many days had he wasted driving around the city, passing the streets in the photograph two, three times a trip? How much hope had he burned away? How many chances had he given Yuri to come out of hiding?

How many hours had he spent wondering what could have driven Yuri to disappear the way he had? What could have been so bad that he hadn’t even been able to tell Flynn about it? They’d been best friends. Yuri had been….

Flynn sat in his car in the hotel parking garage, staring at the postcard. It was a reminder of a huge failure, maybe a collection of many small failures on his part. What hadn’t he noticed? Why hadn’t he been someone Yuri could turn to? Even with those questions hovering around it, surrounding the absence in his life the postcard highlighted, it was still the last, tenuous link between them. Yuri had left everything behind when he’d come to Dahngrest, but he’d kept Flynn’s address. So why had he never said anything?

Someone knocked on the passenger side window. He didn’t even need to look to know it was Yuri. The doors were already locked, but he hit the button anyway, just to make a point. He heard Yuri try the handle.

“Come on, Flynn. Open the door.”

His voice was muffled, but easily understandable. Flynn didn’t answer him.

“I know you’ve got a thing or two to say to me.”

When he still got no response, he started to turn away. That was when Flynn threw the postcard onto the empty passenger seat.

“Explain that,” Flynn demanded.

“You gonna let me in?” When it became obvious that the answer was no, he sighed. “I didn’t know what to write.”

Typical Yuri answer. The bulky cosplay slowed Flynn down as he struggled to get out of the car. Yuri watched him as he came around the front, stripping off his gloves. He threw a punch as soon as he was in range, and, although Yuri tried to block, he was too slow. He hit the pavement and Flynn loomed over him.

“Don’t give me that! What about where you were staying? What about why you left?”

Yuri swept his feet out from under him. “Not really something I could commit to paper.”

Flynn picked himself up, watching as Yuri did the same. “You could have told me before you left! You could have come back or called! You could have done _something_!”

“You wanna talk about this, or do you wanna fight? ‘Cause right now—”

An access door opened, and a group of people spilled out into the garage, chatting. Flynn straightened up and fixed his cosplay. He took a deep breath. He’d needed the distraction.

Yuri was straightening his outfit. His mouth was twisted in distaste. This had to be uncomfortable for him, too. He could have just lost himself in the convention, but he’d sought Flynn out. He had to have known forgiveness wouldn’t just be handed to him.

“Why did you disappear?” Flynn asked quietly. “I was…. I thought your foster father might have—”

“Mind if we leave the heavy stuff for later? It’s been a while, right? I know a place nearby that makes great parfaits. They even offer discounts to cosplayers.”

He cocked his head to the side, smiling wryly, and, once again, Flynn felt like he was suddenly back in high school. He wondered how much had really changed over the years.

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

“I know.” Shrugging, he looked away. “I wasn’t asking you to. Just figured it’d be easier to catch up over dessert.”

Flynn watched him for a long moment before finally tearing his eyes away and gesturing to the car. “Get in. You’re treating.”

They got into the car and buckled up. Yuri stared out the window as Flynn drove them out to the street.

“Hey,” Yuri said. “I missed you.”


	2. Memento

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Although I hadn't originally intended to add anything more after the first chapter, this came about because of a completely unrelated prompt challenge from Suguelya on tumblr. Funny how the brain makes connections sometimes, isn't it?
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

They couldn’t have been much more than eleven or twelve in the photograph. Flynn wasn’t sure exactly how many years ago it had been taken. He remembered the old fleece blanket they’d wrapped themselves in and the watery, box mix cocoa they’d been drinking because those things had always been present in his home. It was his father who had taken the picture. They’d been watching him hang Christmas lights on the house, and he’d paused partway down the ladder to snap the photo. Flynn couldn’t remember much about that particular day, and he never would have expected to see the photograph turn up the way it had.

Yuri fixed him with an even stare from across the table. “Can I have my wallet back?”

Shocked by his discovery, Flynn nearly handed it over before he remembered why he’d snatched it out of Yuri’s hands in the first place. He jerked back at the last second, the wallet still safe in his grasp, and pulled out Yuri’s ID. There, next to his picture, was his address.

“Is this current?”

“Yeah. You know, if you wanted my address, you could’ve just asked.”

Flynn pulled out his phone and paused. He’d been afraid that Yuri might refuse to tell him. He was still afraid that he might have been lying just then, or preparing to move. He had the fleeting suspicion that it was odd to be so concerned about making sure he had Yuri’s address when Yuri had made it perfectly clear for four years that he wasn’t interested in being contacted. It was only a moment’s hesitation, however. He pulled up the screen to enter a new contact.

“What’s your number?”

Yuri rattled it off automatically and Flynn programmed it in along with the address. “You want my email, too?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and Flynn typed it in almost despite himself. As soon as it was saved, he called the number Yuri had given him.

“What, you don’t trust me?” He pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.

“Program it in.”

“Still bossy.” His phone emitted soft beeps as he saved the number. “I tried calling you a couple years back—”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand between them. “Don’t even try to act like it isn’t one hundred percent your fault that we lost touch.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I just….” He shrugged. “So, what have you been up to?”

Flynn barely kept from slamming his hands down on the table. He settled instead for flinging Yuri’s wallet back at him. It was infuriating the way Yuri took it in stride, but his calm gave Flynn a chance to pull himself together.

Apparently, the reason Yuri had taken out his wallet in the first place was for a frequent customer card. Flynn stared at it as Yuri set it down and slid it to the edge of the table for the waitress when she brought their orders. It was punched almost all the way across, earning him a free dessert. Flynn looked around the café with renewed interest, wondering about this place where Yuri was a regular. Had he ever driven past it while Yuri had been inside? Could they have been that close and only just missed each other?

Sitting there, across from Yuri in a café only one of them was familiar with, Flynn felt suddenly like he’d been superimposed on a world where he didn’t belong. Yuri had cut him neatly out of his life four years ago. He’d left a void in Flynn’s world back home, a sucking whirlpool that Flynn had been circling for ages. It had been difficult to navigate those years without Yuri. Flynn had always thought that they’d go to college together, that he’d have more time, but then all of a sudden, he’d been left with nothing but that inexplicable, omnipresent absence.

“I guess your temper hasn’t improved all that much, either.” Yuri was grinning as he spoke.

“As if you have any room to talk to me about that.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who started a fight with the captain of the football team.”

“He threw the first punch! I keep telling you—!”

Reality asserted itself. This wasn’t The Comet Diner they’d used to stop in at after school. For just a moment, the old argument had made Flynn feel like he’d been back in high school. He watched Yuri’s grin lose some of its shine.

“Just because I forgot for a second doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

“You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

It was Yuri’s turn to be angry now, though he kept a lid on his temper as the waitress arrived. Flynn looked at their orders, him with a roast beef sandwich and Yuri with a strawberry parfait. How could things be so much the same after four years?

“Why did you disappear?”

“Can’t I just be happy to see you for a few minutes before we get into all of that?” He had the gall to actually sound annoyed, and it snapped the last threads holding on to Flynn’s temper.

“If you’d wanted to see me, you could’ve come back at any time over the past four years. If you missed me so much, you could have _at least_ written me a letter. You could have let me know that you were okay! So, no, Yuri. You don’t get to be happy right now. You get to tell me exactly why you left, or you get to call yourself a cab after I leave you here.”

“Good thing I’ve got plenty of cash.” He scooped up a spoonful of his parfait, avoiding Flynn’s stare as he ate.

Grabbing the gloves he’d set aside on the table, Flynn stood up. He fumbled to find his wallet in one of the hidden pockets of his costume and threw down a few bills to pay for his uneaten food. He didn’t want anything from Yuri.

As he walked out of the café, he realized what a stupid thought that had been. Really, there were a lot of things he wanted from Yuri, things he thought he’d given up on years ago. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want anything from him, just that he knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

* * *

 

“You’re hogging the blanket!”

“I am not! Quit yanking it!”

“You’re gonna make me spill my hot chocolate!”

“Not if you would quit hogging the blanket!”

“Boys!” The voice of Flynn’s father rolled through the open window like a cheerful peal of thunder. “Come help me plug in the lights!”

The window was open, letting all the light out of the house. It spilled across the snow-covered front yard, turning the drifts a dull, pale yellow. Beyond the reach of the light from the house, the snow banks glittered under the blue light of the stars.

The lights had to be plugged into the wall socket, but Flynn couldn’t see the end of the cord. “There’s no plug,” he called.

“I need help to plug in the lights!”

Flynn leaned out the window, but there was only darkness above. He couldn’t see his father. “I can’t find the plug!”

It wasn’t hanging down from outside, it wasn’t to either side of the window. It was nowhere to be found. He urged Yuri to help him find it, but when he looked over, the blanket next to him was empty. Frantically, he looked around, trying not to spill the two enormous mugs of cocoa he held. All of the light inside was pouring out through the open window, making it hard to see.

“Dad, Yuri’s gone!”

“Help me plug in the lights!”

“ _Dad_!”

His mother’s disembodied voice came to him from the kitchen. “Drink your cocoa.”

“I can’t find Yuri!”

“I need you to plug in the lights!”

“You need to drink the cocoa I made you.”

But Yuri was gone, and how was he supposed to drink his cocoa when there was nobody to hold the other mug?

* * *

 

The alarm on Estelle’s phone woke Flynn up. Groaning, he rolled over and buried his face in the hotel pillows, trying to remember what day it was. Saturday. They wouldn’t be leaving Dahngrest until tomorrow afternoon.

He felt Estelle touch his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to wake you. I have a photo shoot with Judith this morning. I’ll try to be quick getting ready, and then you can go back to sleep.”

It was a nice thought, but Flynn could tell that he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again. Not after yesterday. Not now that he knew Yuri was down there somewhere, going about his new life. Well, not really _new_ , but new to Flynn. Yuri had blinked himself out of existence for four years, turned himself into little more than memories and a postcard that made no sense. It was hard to imagine what he’d been doing for all that time. Where had he lived? How had he supported himself? What sorts of friends had he made? Was his past as big a mystery to them as his present was to Flynn? Was he in school? Did he attend conventions often? Could he have been in the background of some of the cosplay photos Estelle had shown him over the years?

There were four years of Yuri’s life that Flynn knew absolutely nothing about, even though they’d been best friends practically since the day they’d met. It didn’t feel real.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and pulled up Yuri’s contact information—phone number, email, street address. He should’ve taken a picture to go with it all. Actual proof that he’d actually been there.

After Estelle left, Flynn showered and dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans. He spent some time wandering slowly though the convention halls, scanning the crowds and alternating between asking himself a thousand questions that he couldn’t answer and trying not to think about it at all. As he walked, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his hand from straying to the phone in his pocket. He checked the settings a dozen times to be sure the volume was turned up as loud as it would go so that he wouldn’t miss a call due to the noise of the crowds. Every so often, he checked for missed calls anyway, hating himself a little and wondering why he’d even dared to think that something might have changed. He was only fooling himself by thinking there was a chance that Yuri might contact him before he broke down and called first.

When he got hungry around lunchtime, he found his way back to the little café where Yuri was a regular, not sure what he was expecting. The food was good, though he probably wouldn’t have appreciated it yesterday if he had stayed. He sat at his table for more than two hours. Yuri never showed up, but then, he didn’t have any reason to.

Finally, he got fed up with himself for moping over the past when the past clearly didn’t care about him. He returned to the convention, determined to enjoy himself for the rest of the afternoon. The gaming rooms kept him occupied for a few hours watching tournaments or playing against other attendees when his turn came around. For a while, he actually forgot about Yuri and had some fun.

When he finally left, he found that he’d had no signal inside and had therefore missed two calls and a text message from Estelle—invitations to dinner. Yuri would be there. She’d made sure to let him know, promise and warning rolled into one, but he’d missed them when they left for the restaurant. He had a moment of sick uncertainty that passed when he remembered that Yuri had his number. If he’d wanted Flynn to come, he could have called.

He ate dinner alone in the hotel bar and passed the time watching cosplayers until Estelle, Judith, and Yuri returned.

Flynn hadn’t actually been sure what he was going to do the next time he saw Yuri. He deserved answers—needed them—now that he knew Yuri was all right, but…he was afraid of what answers he might receive. He’d had suspicions, but nothing more, and Yuri had never given him anything more than accidental hints. The Yuri he’d known wasn’t the type to run away from anything, and Flynn feared finding out what had been bad enough to make him vanish. He _had_ to hear it from Yuri, though. If they were ever going to speak again, if he wasn’t willing to let Yuri go, he had to know why Yuri had left him.

Yuri spotted him almost immediately and came straight over. His hair was loose, framing his face. It had grown so long.

“Can we talk?”

Flynn nodded, stood up, led the way to the elevators. His phone alerted him to a text message from Estelle, telling him to call if he needed her. When he looked back, he could see her across the lobby, watching them pensively.

They rode the crowded elevator in silence and Flynn led them down the hall to his room. When he let them in, Yuri brushed past without looking at him. He strode across the room and came to a stop at the foot of the far bed, staring around at a hotel room indistinguishable from any other. Watching him shift his weight and try to find someplace to rest his gaze, Flynn made an allowance for his unease and gave him time to find where to begin as he stood between Yuri and the door. Things between them would be decided upon what was or was not said that evening.

“I don’t know how to start,” Yuri complained. “If it wasn’t you, I wouldn’t even be trying.”

“Just tell me why.”

“That’s not an easy question to answer, Flynn. It’s part of the reason I left.” He scuffed his boots against the carpet. “Did they give the man who fostered me any other kids after I took off? I made some calls to tell them not to, but….”

“I don’t know. Once you were gone…once they stopped the investigation, I didn’t….” He hadn’t kept up the phone calls and the visits. They had barely been enough to convince that man to report Yuri missing before he’d been declared an adult. After the police closed the investigation, it had just seemed pointless. Seeing Yuri’s expression now, Flynn felt ill. Had that been another mistake on his part? He took a step forward, reaching out.

“Yuri—”

“He was abusive.” Although his voice was calm, Yuri kept fidgeting, kept crossing his arms over his chest, and he was being very careful not to look at Flynn. “It had been going on for a while.”

“What did he—?”

“ _Don’t_ —” He held up a warning hand between them. “—ask for details. You don’t want to hear them.” He took a deep breath. “Yesterday you wanted to know why I didn’t let you know I was okay. I guess…I didn’t want to lie to you. It fucked me up pretty bad, Flynn.”

He wanted to reach out, wanted to reassure Yuri somehow, wanted to hit something. There was something thick and strange between them, though, and he kept a few steps’ distance.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you go to the police?”

His lips twisted in an awful smirk. “I did. They told me that, if I didn’t want to get in trouble for filing a false report, I’d better go on home and thank that man for fostering an ungrateful brat like myself.”

“They—!” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His nails cut into his palms, but he kept himself from lashing out and punching the wall or something equally unhelpful. “Who said that to you?” he demanded. “Which one was it?”

For the first time since he’d returned to the hotel, Yuri looked directly at him. Surprise had wiped away that terrible smirk, and it was followed quickly by a cautious smile and a short, shaky laugh. “So much for the thin, blue line,” he said.

“Just because my father was a police officer—” Flynn broke off as a thought occurred to him with shocking clarity. “You didn’t think I’d believe you. Is that why you never told me? Is that why you left?”

The smile was gone in an instant, and Yuri turned away again. “No. I knew you’d believe me. That was part of the problem.” He sighed and reached up to rub the back of his neck, hiding most of his face. “I didn’t leave because of him, exactly. I’d mostly worked out ways to avoid that. I left because I would have murdered him if I’d stayed.”

“That’s—”

“He was worse when he was drunk, but he always passed out after. The last time it happened, I went into the kitchen and got a knife. I had it against his throat. It would have been easy. Just one, quick slash. Right before I did it, I remember thinking that the cops would care about that, for sure. Then…I thought about you. I saw myself the way you would. I didn’t…. I couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing me like that, not if there was any other way I could save myself. So, I left. That night. I just…ran. If I had stayed, I’d have killed him the next time he so much as looked at me.

“I made it to Dahngrest. I was sure for a long time that he would come after me. I still carry a knife on me all the time.”

He moved, and the blade was suddenly in his hand, sharp and bright. The motion had been so quick that it was clear it had been well practiced. Yuri hid the knife away and shrugged.

“I got a job, found a place, made some friends. I’ll tell you about that, too, if you want, but I think we’ve covered the important stuff.”

“Yuri….”

Flynn reached out through the uncertainty and the bad memories and the four long years between them to grab Yuri’s hand and pull him into a hug. He felt Yuri’s whole body tense up, felt him force himself to relax, and then, slowly, Yuri reached up to clutch fistfuls of Flynn’s shirt. As Flynn held him, fingers tangled in long, black hair, all he could say was: “I’m sorry,” but all that kept running through his mind was: _Why didn’t you tell me?_

* * *

 

It took them a while to let go and calm down. Yuri’s eyes were red-rimmed when Flynn finally let him pull away, but neither of them said anything. They wound up sitting on the floor between the beds, shoulder to shoulder, leaning back against the mattresses. They set aside the four years’ differences and went back to high school and before. They argued over old rivalries and reminded each other of funny stories and pleasant memories. At some point, Flynn realized that he had taken hold of Yuri’s hand. He was loath to let go once he’d noticed. He didn’t want to let Yuri out of his sight for fear that he would disappear again.

Eventually, their reminiscing was interrupted by a text from Estelle. Flynn pulled out his phone and read over it quickly.

“Time for me to go?”

“No. She was just letting me know that she’ll be spending the night at Judith’s apartment.”

“I can leave.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Look, I don’t want to get in the way of you and your girlfriend.” As he tried to get up, Flynn tightened his hold on Yuri’s hand.

“Estelle and I aren’t dating. I guess…I never really got over you.”

He felt the little shock of surprise that traveled through Yuri and offered a wry smile. He hadn’t meant to talk about this, but he was tired and relieved and remorseful. He was willing to talk about anything that might keep Yuri from leaving, even for only a few more moments.

“I was going to ask you to prom. That was how I’d planned to tell you. I didn’t think…. I didn’t know how important it was not to put it off.”

Nervously, Yuri looked from him to the door. “I should get going.”

“Please, Yuri. Tomorrow’s the last day of the convention. All I’m asking is that you stay. Take Estelle’s bed. I’ll sleep in mine. Just…just don’t go.”

“I thought you hadn’t forgiven me.”

“I have.” At some point, he had done so without realizing it. Possibly at the moment he’d taken Yuri’s hand in his. “Please.”

“Let go of my hand.”

Immediately, Flynn did as he said, though the loss filled him with trepidation, particularly as Yuri started for the door. He scrambled to his feet.

“Yuri!”

He stepped into the bathroom, though, not out into the hall, and shut the door behind himself. His voice came through slightly muffled.

“I can’t be anything more than a friend to you, and we saw how well that worked out.”

“I’m all right with friends, so don’t even try to use that as an excuse.” He could live with never being anything more than friends if it just meant having Yuri back in his life. He rested his forehead against the door. “I really won’t forgive you if you disappear again.”

“…Find me something to sleep in,” he ordered. “I know you’ve got a spare. You always pack too much for trips.”

Relieved, Flynn went and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. He laid them out on Estelle’s bed, trying to ignore the way his eyes had begun to sting.

* * *

 

Sunday passed in a blur. Yuri and Judith hung out in the room while Flynn and Estelle packed up their things to get ready for check out. They cosplayed as a group again, and Flynn felt the usual excitement of being someone else for a short while. Yuri was just as handsome as Jazz as he had been in his borrowed pajamas but, much more importantly, he was at his ease. He wore an undying grin, teased Estelle, and picked stupid fights with Flynn. Although things had changed between them, for the rest of that afternoon it was as if no time at all had passed since the summer before their senior year of high school.

When the convention ended, they all met up at a nearby restaurant for an early dinner. As much as he enjoyed himself, Flynn was acutely aware of the time that was rushing steadily away. Eventually, they had no more excuses to linger and were forced to say goodbye. As he drove off, Flynn watched Yuri in the rearview mirror until he was no longer in sight.

Not five minutes down the road, his phone went off, indicating a new text message. He waited until he came to a stoplight before pulling it out. The photo he’d taken of Yuri as Jazz filled the screen.

|gimmie a call nxt time ur in dg ill loan u my couch 4 the wknd|

He smiled. Yuri had contacted him first, after all.


	3. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter gets much more detailed about what Yuri went through before he ran away.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Yuri gave up trying to keep his leg from bouncing incessantly. He jabbed his straw at the few droplets' worth of melted ice cream in the bottom of the glass that was all the remained of his parfait. He considered ordering another one. At least eating would give him something to do while he waited.

It wouldn't be much longer. He'd been telling himself that for almost half an hour, though, and before that, he'd been constantly reminding himself that he'd arrived early. All in all, he'd been sitting in the cafe, alone, for the better part of an hour. Waiting. Flynn had better show up.

With a sigh, he wondered when he'd gone from hoping Flynn showed up soon to hoping he showed up at all. He knew it was irrational to be so worried. It was only twenty minutes after they'd agreed to meet up. Flynn had probably just gotten caught in traffic. He wasn't the type to break a promise.

Or at least, back in high school he hadn't been. Four years ago before his best friend had disappeared without a word, Flynn hadn't ever broken a promise. He probably hadn't changed that much, but what did Yuri know? He'd cut off contact. They'd texted some after the convention, but sometimes it felt like he was getting to know Flynn all over again. Maybe Flynn had stayed the same though, and it was only Yuri who had changed. Maybe only the loyalty Flynn owed him had changed.

That thought sat with him, an unwelcome guest whispering viciously in his ear. When the waitress returned, he asked for the check rather than a second parfait. He would give Flynn five more minutes and then call. He checked the time on his phone and sighed. The Flynn he used to know would definitely come, no question.

He arrived, as it turned out, right along with the bill. Yuri busied himself pulling cash out of his wallet to keep from letting his relief show plain as Flynn slipped into the booth across from him with a sigh and a smile. He didn't want to let on that he'd doubted his friend.

“Sorry I'm late. Traffic got a bit thick as I was entering the city.”

“I figured.”

He would have met the usual lunch rush along with whatever influx the holiday weekend was bringing. Yuri had tried to tell himself as much, earlier. He shook off the gloom and offered a smile.

“You hungry? The food here's pretty good.” He avoided reminding Flynn that he'd missed out on it once before. That wasn't the sort of meeting between them that he wanted to recall.

Oddly, he hesitated a moment before his smile came back full force. “I could eat.”

He ordered kebabs rather than the roast beef sandwich he'd wanted to try on their first, ill-fated trip to the little diner, and Yuri was more relieved than he should have been. He wasn't superstitious normally, but he felt as if the connection rebuilt between them was about as sturdy as a fraying rope bridge. It made him unusually skittish. It was getting irritating.

“How was the drive?”

He almost winced at the question. He'd asked it just to get his mind off his own worries, and it had sounded tinged with desperation and disinterest to his ears. It was such a stiff thing to ask, so damn impersonal, but Flynn didn't seem to notice. He talked, cheerfully, about having made good time right until he was just outside the city.

“I almost called you, but it was bumper-to-bumper and I didn't want to miss the turn off. Some of the drivers here are really....”

“Fucking rude?” He smirked. Dahngrest traffic was a beast.

“'Opportunistic' was the word I was searching for, but, yes,” he grinned crookedly, “rude is also a good description for a fair number of them.”

“Lucky for you, I don't live too far away.”

“Walking distance?”

Yuri shook his head. “I took the bus. My place isn't far, but the roads change names and loop around. There are a couple of one way streets. It's confusing if you don't know the area. Since you knew this place, it was just easier to get you here. I'll navigate us home.”

Flynn smiled, and the warmth in it made Yuri suddenly and acutely homesick, and not for the small apartment he'd been living in for the past year, either. It wasn't even an actual home he missed, so much as a time. Growing up with Flynn in Zaphias, he'd never expected that he'd end up cutting all ties and running away someday. He'd made his choice, though, and he stood by it. A sensation as simple as the brush of his sleeve over the backs of his fingers could still bring to mind the scratchy feel of stubble against his skin as he'd held a knife to his foster father's throat while the man slept. Flynn still didn't understand how close Yuri had come to doing something much, much worse than running away. Some days Yuri was more okay with that than others.

Knowing that his mood had gone so sharply downhill due to nerves didn't help fix it. Thankfully, Flynn was obviously happy to be there with him, and that served as a balm to Yuri's spirits. He cheered up slowly as they chatted while Flynn ate. He ordered a strawberry shake and, by the time it arrived, was comfortable enough with his old friend to swipe a fry off his plate. A playful swat on the hand was punishment for his theft, but Flynn had been grinning and it had felt too familiar. He kept stealing fries as Flynn devoted one hand to slapping at him or trying to block his searching fingers and ate with the other. By the time they'd cleaned the plate, Yuri couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't shared food with anyone like that in years.

They paid and left. Flynn was mostly carrying the conversation at that point, describing a new game he'd recently played. He guided Yuri back to his car, though he didn't need to. It was the same one his parents had bought him when he'd gotten his driver's license. A sense of deja vu overcame him as he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. For an unsettling moment, it felt as if they had just left The Comet, as if he would be returning that evening to the house of a violent drunk, rather than his own apartment. A shiver ran down his spine, dissolving some of his good mood. Having Flynn back in his life was unearthing buried memories and throwing off the balance he'd achieved. He'd missed his best friend like crazy, but it was already clear that this visit was going to be trying.

Yuri remembered the last time he'd been in the car: that one way trip on the first day of the convention, the day Flynn had so unexpectedly found him. He'd been a wreck when he'd spotted Flynn in the registration line and realized that there was no way to avoid him. He could barely remember most of that first conversation. Panic had taken over. He'd never realized how hard it could be to act normal until he'd suddenly and completely forgotten what normal was.

What a train wreck. He'd barely known what he wanted to say, much less how to say it, but later that day he'd still gone off and followed Flynn without a thought. It was the same as that damn postcard he'd sent.

When he'd bought the postcard, he'd honestly intended to write an actual message, something to let Flynn know that he was doing all right. It couldn't have been anything long, and he couldn't have mentioned any details—not on a _postcard_ —but he'd meant to write _something_. He'd taken it straight to the post office and gotten started while he'd waited in line, but...the words just hadn't come. In the end, he'd had it stamped and mailed, anyway. It had felt like such a cowardly, empty gesture, but Flynn had kept it.

Relating the first of the directions, Yuri watched Flynn out of the corner of his eye as they pulled out into the flow of traffic. His talk about the new game had died out. The conversation had stalled. Taking a deep breath, Yuri took a chance.

“Do you still have that postcard?”

Flynn's gaze flickered momentarily to him, then back to the road. “It's in the glove box,” he said quietly.

Yuri pulled it out. Briefly, he looked over the picture, a shot of part of a neighborhood he'd never lived in. At first, he didn't remember why he'd chosen that particular image. Memory prodded him with the vague certainty that he'd picked it for a reason.

“When I first came to the city, I thought maybe you had tried to send me a clue. I studied the picture for anything that might help me find you.”

Studied.... The image came back to him in a flash, a vivid compilation of different days and times. He'd used to study over at Flynn's house, sometimes. He'd sprawl on the bed while Flynn sat at the desk. He could remember how the old desk lamp had changed the blue of Flynn's eyes and, with that memory, he could see the same shade now in the shadow cast by the fire escape on the turquoise-painted brick wall.

Belatedly, he realized that there had been a question hidden in Flynn's words, and that he'd been even more selfish than he'd realized.

“There wasn't any hidden message,” he said. “I just picked it because I liked it.”

Flynn nodded slowly, and Yuri felt he should have known better what his expression meant. Maybe part of the strangeness between them was just that he'd forgotten how to read the little signs. Used to be, he could practically read Flynn's mind. Or, at least, that's how it seemed to him looking back. It was different now, and the fact that the changes between them had been unavoidable didn't make those changes suck any less.

He caught himself before he could sigh, and settled in his seat as he guided them back towards his apartment.

* * *

 

The first time Yuri slipped up, the knife barely grazed his finger. He'd had worse paper cuts, but he washed the knife and his hands just in case and went back to chopping potatoes. The second mistake was worse. He sliced open the side of his index finger deep enough that blood welled instantly. Muttering swears, he dropped the knife and sucked on the cut, glaring down at the potatoes as if it was their fault that he couldn't keep his hands steady.

Cautiously, he peered into the living room. Flynn was watching a movie from the couch. He'd been trapped there by Repede who had stretched across his lap and was enjoying being scratched behind the ears. They'd taken to each other immediately, which was a little surprising, but definitely a good thing. Repede was a stray that had adopted Yuri when he'd been new to the city, the first and truest friend he'd found in Dahngrest. If he hadn't liked Flynn, Yuri wasn't really sure what he would have done. He hadn't even realized he'd been so worried about it until his old best friend and his new one had wound up tussling playfully on the floor within minutes of meeting each other.

The sight had done wonders for the uneasy feeling that had settled in the back of his mind, and he'd given Flynn a quick tour of the apartment before they'd settled in for their movie day. Through texts and phone calls, they'd been swapping recommendations for movies since the convention. A lot of the movies Yuri had suggested were ones that Flynn had already seen, and the same held true the other way around. Still, there were a few that only he had gone to see and just _known_ that Flynn would have enjoyed. That had turned into the idea that, when Flynn came to visit, they ought to have a movie day.

At first, Yuri hadn't been entirely certain of the idea. It had seemed to him that there were a lot more interesting things to do in the city. Now, though, he was glad he'd agreed. Something about talking to Flynn in person again after so many years led to strange pauses and uncomfortable lulls in the conversation. Having the movies on meant that they could chat when the urge took them, comment on the action onscreen, tell stories from their separate lives—whatever came to mind. If they fell quiet, there was a movie to focus on, even if they'd spoken long enough to lose the thread of the plot. Before the movie marathon, Yuri had still been worried about whether they could simply pick up from where they'd left off. He wasn't convinced that the companionship they'd shared would return easily. He hadn't realized how easy it could be until they were patching up the rickety bridge between them during a stunningly coordinated fight scene.

They'd been sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Sitting in between, Repede disguised the distance that separated them. Coming out of a lull, Flynn had started trying to make some point about the main character's motivation. Though his face had been turned toward the screen, the rest of him had been angled toward Yuri. He'd been gesturing as he spoke, a slow movement of his hand that had always accompanied his reasoning, but there'd been Repede and the apartment to keep Yuri fixed in the present. He'd felt in that moment the four years' worth of distance between them, but it had suddenly no longer been insurmountable. He'd smiled and argued Flynn's point just because he _could_.

Yuri smiled again as he thought on it. Then, grateful that neither of them had noticed anything, he ducked back into the kitchen. It was irritating that he would have to slow down to counteract the clumsiness that had taken hold of him. He'd been cooking for years, and rarely made such careless mistakes. He took up the knife one more time, going slow and careful as he chopped up the potatoes, and trying to tell himself how stupid it was that his imagination kept comparing the resistance against the blade to how it felt for a knife to ride the bob of an Adam's apple as a man swallowed.

“Yuri?”

Flynn spoke from just behind him, and the suddenness of it hard on the heels of unwanted memories made Yuri jump. The knife chopped crookedly down and he swore and flung it into the sink. He'd sliced his thumb open at the joint, and he brought the cut immediately to his mouth, sucking on it even as fright made his heart pound in his chest. Letting his eyes flicker up to meet Flynn's showed him the shock there, and he turned away, trying to buy time to settle down by washing his hands again. His overreaction left him feeling like an idiot. Flynn hadn't caught him at anything but chopping potatoes, and his heart just needed to calm the fuck down.

“Are you all right?”

The words were quiet, and Yuri hated that he couldn't tell if Flynn was just surprised, or if he actually realized that something was wrong and was trying not to let on. He ignored the darkness lurking in his mind and responded according to what Flynn had seen. Easier if he accepted that as the only problem.

“Just a little nick.”

Blood welled watery as he pulled his hand out from under the tap. It thickened within seconds, still coming too fast for him to go back to making dinner. He couldn't remember if he had any band-aids.

Repede had padded in to gaze up at him. Yuri offered him a smile that shook at the edges, then pulled out a fresh knife. He offered it to Flynn without quite meeting his eyes.

“Finish chopping those up for me, would you?”

There was a strange hesitation before he took the knife and turned aside to do as he'd been told. “You're letting me cook?” he asked.

“I'm letting you chop. Stick to that and we should have a decent chance of surviving the meal.”

“How do you know I haven't gotten better?” Thok-thok-thok. He was steady and methodical. Yuri knelt next to Repede and ruffled his fur to stop himself from staring at the glint of the knife in Flynn's hands.

“Educated guess.”

Flynn chuckled. “Instinct, maybe.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” The wan smile he'd managed fluctuated, caught between what he should have known was teasing, and suspicion that Flynn might have honestly meant something by it.

The sound of the knife halted as Flynn stilled. When he turned around, he took a good look at Yuri, searching for something or taking his measure. Unnerving as the scrutiny was, Yuri stood up, feeling absurdly as if he'd have been using Repede as a shield otherwise. The question Flynn asked caught him off guard.

“It is really all right that I'm here?”

“What? Yeah, of course. It's fine.” He bit back anything further, but even the silence seemed to point out the unsettled atmosphere. Flynn gave him a moment before breaking the silence, himself.

“You've been jumpy.”

“Too much coffee this morning.”

“I'm being serious, Yuri. If I'm making you uncomfortable, I can get a room at a hotel.” He paused—Why did he keep doing that? They'd never been so unsure of each other!—then added: “If it's better that I go home....”

It took some effort for Yuri to keep his expression calm when he was caught somewhere between panic and irrational anger at the suggestion—hell, at the whole damn situation. He didn't want to start a fight. It wouldn't make Flynn want to stay, and he didn't want Flynn to go. He couldn't even say anything about Flynn leaving because it would just light the fuse. Instead, he walked past him out of the kitchen, not even able to allow himself the brush of their shoulders as he passed.

“I'm gonna go find a band-aid. Finish chopping up the potatoes if you want dinner.”

He didn't look back to see if Flynn would obey, just hoped that he wouldn't take the chance to slip out. As much as it felt like he was running away, he couldn't deny that he needed to clear his head. His memories hadn't given him so much trouble since he'd first come to Dahngrest, back when the events had still torn at the edges of his mind, sharp and bright as a new razor. He'd gotten over it since then. He'd gotten past it. At least...he'd thought he had. Having Flynn suddenly very much in the middle of his life was stirring up more than old feelings. Even though his friend hadn't been there that night, hadn't even known what was going on, he'd still been the reason Yuri had been able to draw back and find another path. Flynn was inextricably tangled up in the fringes of that attempted murder.

Repede had followed him into the bathroom, and Yuri knelt to hug him briefly. He hated thinking back on what he'd done, or almost done, but he couldn't seem to block the thoughts out. Flynn looked...almost the same as the last Yuri had seen of him. He tried to think back to that, to give happier memories his attention. It had been raining. He'd biked over to Flynn's place to study, but it was late and he'd needed to go. Not because of any curfew of his own, of course. He'd planned to hit the gym and stay there until he was reasonably certain his foster father would be asleep. No, he'd had to take off because Flynn had been getting too curious about how often Yuri spent the night. So, that night, even though it had begun to rain and Yuri had biked over, he refused Flynn's offer of a ride home and left. That had been the last time he'd seen his best friend for four years.

Drawing a deep breath, he released a quiet sigh. So much for happy memories. Right at that moment, it felt like _everything_ had been tainted. It didn't help that they'd been alternating all day between awkward silences and the same sort of stupid arguments they'd used to have all the time. If he could just work out how to get along with Flynn the way he had before, maybe he wouldn't be so damn unsettled.

Sensing his mood, Repede whined softly and lifted a paw onto Yuri's leg, claws digging hard into his jeans.

“I'm okay, pal.” He spoke under his breath to be sure the words didn't make it to Flynn's sharp ears. “Old war wounds,” he joked weakly.

There were no band-aids in his medicine cabinet. When he returned to the kitchen, Flynn took one look at his thumb and pulled out his wallet. Apparently he still kept a band-aid or two in there, and he passed one to Yuri without a word. Neither of them pointed out that he could have offered earlier or that Yuri might have asked. They spent a quiet minute ignoring the strangeness between them as Yuri wrapped up his thumb. When he finished, he waggled his fingers at Flynn.

“All better. Go watch the movie. I'll have dinner ready in no time.”

It was obvious that he didn't want to leave but, in the end, he retreated to the couch. For the first time, Yuri realized that there had been some sort of unspoken truce forged between them. Flynn refrained from prying at Yuri's secrets when once he would have insisted on sharing the burden. As he considered that insight, Yuri wondered what part he was playing that bound Flynn to play along.

* * *

 

Dinner was simple: mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and beef tips flavored with soy sauce and garlic. Yuri brought plates out for both of them and told Repede that he'd put some food for him in his bowl. Though there was more than enough room on the couch once Repede had gone to eat, Yuri dropped to sit on the floor with his plate, pulling the coffee table close. Flynn stayed perched on the edge of the couch, and they tucked in without hesitation. Between bites, Flynn made little approving sounds, though his biggest nod to the basic meal was how quickly he cleaned his plate.

“That was great,” he said as he set his plate aside on the table. “I'm glad to see you kept cooking.” The movie was winding down, and Yuri was almost convinced it had Flynn's attention when he asked: “How's your thumb?”

“Fine.” He dared a glance back and was met with a stare that didn't quite conceal Flynn's concern. “That was a fluke,” he said. It was both a promise to himself to keep the past in the past, and a quiet request to let the matter drop. He'd gotten over it all once before on his own. He could do it again. There was no need to drag Flynn any closer to the truth of that night.

As soon as the credits started rolling, Yuri was up and across the living room to switch out the DVD. When he returned, he chose the floor again and was careful not to look back to see Flynn's expression. Whatever his friend thought about that, he didn't say anything. Repede tucked himself against Yuri's side as Flynn settled in against the far corner of the couch. There didn't seem to be much to say as the movie began.

They talked sporadically throughout the movie as they had done with the others. Maybe Flynn was a little quieter, but Yuri tried to chalk it up to his drive into the city and the fact that the hours had carried them well into the evening. He told himself that Flynn was probably just tired, and he tried to ignore the sensation of eyes focusing on him from behind. The temptation to glance back and be sure Flynn was watching the movie and not him was almost overwhelming, particularly when he would feel the couch move as his friend shifted position. Much as he tried to convince himself that it was paranoid to believe Flynn was watching him, he couldn't quite manage it until, shortly before the end of the movie, the sound of movement right behind his head startled him into looking over his shoulder.

It seemed that Flynn really had been tired. He'd stretched himself out on the couch. He couldn't possibly still have a good view, given that his head rested so close to Yuri's, but maybe he didn't care. Even after he yawned, his eyes remained tiredly half-lidded. It made him look like he was squinting to see the screen.

“Am I in the way? Want me to head for bed so you can get some sleep?”

“Mmm.” He sighed, and his eyes slid shut. “Don't go.”

Yuri shrugged and turned back to the TV. He'd finish the movie and then go grab a spare blanket and pillow. The rustle of fabric on fabric was the only warning he got before fingers slipped over his shoulder and curled into the collar of his shirt.

A memory formed from a host of separate instances swallowed him whole. Rough hands grasped at him, caught his collar, yanked him back, choked him, kept him from getting away. He only barely refrained from lunging away from the strength he'd never been able to match, never been able to fight off. Reality had been reduced to little more than cobwebs under the onslaught, but he grasped for it, pulled the threads of his life back together and cocooned himself in them. He reminded himself that he was safe even as he carefully turned his head, checking to be certain that the hand loosely gripping his collar was Flynn's.

In his initial shock, he'd drawn his knees up to his chest. Now, he wrapped an arm around them to contain that urge to bolt. The warmth of Flynn's fingers was gentle against the crook of his neck, and he was sure that was all Flynn had been looking for—just a bit of contact, something to reinforce his words—but Yuri couldn't keep from reaching up. His hand moved on its own, seeking to dislodge the loose grip that held him, but Flynn misunderstood. He twined their fingers together. Yuri's collar got caught up and pulled just a bit tighter.

“I missed you,” Flynn murmured.

If he'd left it at that, if he'd just kept still and let Yuri adjust and calm down then it would have been okay. Instead, he slipped his hand free and slid it around Yuri's shoulders, over his collarbone, puling him back against the couch. All Yuri felt was the arm closing over his throat.

He shot up from the floor and was down the hall before he could check the impulse to flee. He heard his name shouted after him and ignored it. The door to his bedroom stood open, and he darted through it, slamming it shut behind him, turning the lock and sinking to the floor. He made a barricade with his body and tried to calm his breathing.

A hug. It had just been a hug. Flynn had just been trying to hug him for fuck's sake, so why did he have to go running away like a terrified child? For fuck's sake.

_Fuck._

“Fuck...!” He let his head fall back against the door and felt it shake, not from the impact, but from Flynn trying the handle.

“Yuri? What's wrong? What happened?”

He hadn't wanted Flynn to see him like this. He hadn't realized this was still something he needed to fear happening to him. He felt stupid and crippled and _wrong_ , and he knew it was something that had been done to him, taken from him, but he still couldn't help feeling ashamed.

“Yuri....”

Flynn wasn't shaking the handle any longer. He wasn't trying to get in. Yuri could almost picture him standing in the hall, a hand pressed to the door. Fuck. He bit down on the bandage wrapped around his thumb.

“Do you want me to leave? We can try this another time. I don't.... I don't want to leave you alone like this, though, so if you need me to go, you'll have to tell me.”

He didn't trust his voice. Hopefully, if he didn't speak up, Flynn would get the message. Much as Yuri hated having shown that he'd been broken, he hated even more the thought of Flynn walking out on him.

“Hey, Repede.” Flynn's greeting was soft. He paused a moment, then spoke up for Yuri's benefit. “I guess you wouldn't really be alone, huh? I'm going to get my things together.”

The scuff of footsteps over carpet forced him to choose. He shuffled awkwardly away from the door, twisting to reach up and catch at the handle, fumbling the lock and dragging the door open a crack.

“Wait!”

The footsteps halted, then came closer. “Yuri?”

He was still sitting in front of the door, still trying to hold the past at bay, but he'd left an opening even if he didn't know what to offer through it. He reached for normal.

“Guess I ruined movie night.” The smile in his voice was brittle. He'd tried for humor and failed. An apology welled up in his throat, almost choking him with its insistence on being spoken. He forced it down. He had enough pride for that, at least.

“What do you want me to do? Whatever you need, I'll do it.”

“Shouldn't go around making promises like that.”

What did he need? He needed his foster father to pay for what he'd done, but that obviously wasn't going to happen unless he did something himself. Was becoming a monster the only way to fight one? Flynn wouldn't forgive him, no matter the circumstances. He'd known that four years ago, he knew it now. Back then, he hadn't been able to protect himself by half measures or otherwise. He'd had no choice but to run away. Now, tonight with Flynn, he was still running. He wanted to be able to stop. He wanted to feel safe again.

“Tell me what I should do. I can go home—”

Why was that his first offer? Was he regretting having found his old friend, now that he was beginning to see how much had changed?

“—I can get a room at a hotel, or I can—”

“Stay.”

“Are you sure? I don't—”

“Stay here. The couch is comfy but no one ever sleeps on it. Shame, right?”

There was a pause, then: “It was nicer than I'd expected.”

He felt it when Flynn settled his back against the door, not pushing, but mirroring Yuri's position. The difference was that Flynn stretched out a hand through the opening Yuri had left him and let it come to rest on the carpet just inside the room. His little finger only barely rested against Yuri's.

Although he knew that Flynn didn't fully understand, he comforted himself with the acceptance he'd been offered. It was enough.

* * *

 

In the stillness just after he awoke, Yuri remembered with a strange, exhausted calm the night he'd left Zaphias. He'd gotten home late, hair still wet from a shower he'd taken at the gym. He could remember sneaking in, breathing carefully through his mouth to minimize the sound of his breath. He'd strained his eyes and ears in the dark, though he needn't have bothered. When his foster father had come after him, he'd come as a raging thunderstorm. Yuri's mind shied away from what had followed. He remembered meaty fists, the hot stench of an alcoholic's breath, and pain. He'd fought back, though it hadn't done him any good, had never done him any good. With a brain pickled in alcohol, the man hadn't felt the pain from Yuri's attacks, though the struggle had further enraged him.

Yuri had been left bleeding on the kitchen floor. He could remember staring at a smeared puddle of his own blood as he listened to the man huffing and puffing around the kitchen. The fridge door hit him in the side as it was opened. A clumsy kick caught him just below the shoulder and he heard the crackling hiss of a can of beer being opened. There was grumbling, swearing, one last kick to his legs and a loud belch before the man finally shambled off to collapse into his bed. Yuri had listened and he had waited.

When the snoring had started, he'd carefully picked himself up. He hadn't thought. The moments had been too delicate for thought. They'd have shattered. The snoring had filled the house, ratcheting through his ears. He'd listened to it as he'd pulled out a knife, one of the serrated ones, a blade that would bite into meat and tear it.

He'd walked softly down the hall, but not carefully. Experience had taught him that snores meant oblivion. He hadn't thought of it as a chance or even a risk. He hadn't been thinking at all.

The man's room had stunk of rank sweat, stale beer, and mildew. He would forever associate such a combination with rage and despair but now, as he remembered, it was dulled. His recollections had been paced away for so long that they'd lost some of their potency. Details were missing.

It had been dim in the room, but not completely dark. Streetlights shone through the bent and crooked blinds, highlighting the prone form snoring on the bed. Yuri had stood there, watching that huge body heaving with deep, unguarded breaths. He'd never been able to fight the man off before. He hadn't been something that registered as a threat.

Yuri had lifted the knife without thinking about it. He'd watched his arm rise as if it had been controlled by a marionette's strings. The knife had settled atop the man's Adam's apple—lightly. Waiting.

He could remember watching the blade with a sense of perfect calm, though he couldn't remember for how long. He felt like it had been a very long time. It wouldn't have surprised him if he had been waiting for the man to wake up and see him and know that he was going to die and know why he was going to die, but he couldn't say for certain if that thought had been with him. He didn't remember thinking anything at all. Just watching. He could still picture the exact way the light on the knife had shifted as it had risen and fallen with the man's breaths. That bright white glinting light....

“You awake?”

Flynn voice, still rough with sleep, broke him free of the memory. He was able to focus, picking out the roughly textured ceiling, the cheap fan with its long, gray shadows cast by the watery sunlight seeping through the blinds. He'd gone to bed in the living room, on a pallet on the floor across the coffee table from the couch. Though Flynn had offered to sleep on the floor in his room, Yuri had declined. He'd wanted to be able to retreat if the memories came for him in the night. Slowly, he turned his head to look at his friend.

The sound he made as he tried to stifle the eruption of laughter was the most undignified sort of choking snort. He curled in on himself, snickering, as Flynn frowned.

“What?”

“You look like a chocobo nested in your hair.”

Immediately, Flynn began combing his fingers through the riot of blond spikes. “Excuse me for being afflicted with bedhead.”

From where he lay practically on his stomach, Yuri watched out of the corner of his eye as Flynn tried to fix his hair. The morning light left him washed out, too. The room was pale and shadowed. It held the same quality as an overcast spring day, airy and cleansing. Taking a deep breath, he found that a smile came unexpectedly easily. The memories he'd woken with felt aged and insubstantial. He tucked them away, a set of over-exposed photographs of a time and a place that had nothing to do with him anymore. It was a new day and, as he saw Flynn smiling bemusedly down at him, he knew it would be better than the previous.

* * *

 

They spent that second day touring Danhgrest. Yuri had planned to take the bus, but Flynn insisted on driving in order to learn his way around. As they argued over who was in charge of the radio, Yuri again took on the role of navigator, guiding Flynn to his favorite haunts. It wasn't long before he realized that his friend was more familiar with the streets than he'd expected. He only had to point out two turns to get them out of his neighborhood, and Flynn got them from there to the gym with barely any directions at all.

It was strange to realize how familiar Flynn was with that part of town. They could have been so close so many times, maybe only seconds apart without ever knowing. It was the sort of realization that should have made him feel more guilty than it did. He knew he should have done things differently, and he did regret what he'd put Flynn through, but at the same time, he stood by his choice. What else could he have done? He hadn't had anywhere else to go, and his earlier attempts to run away before he'd gotten a job and been able to save up a bit of money had only resulted in being dragged back by cops who didn't care about the truth when it complicated their jobs. Dahngrest hadn't been just an escape. It had been a challenge and a chance to start to heal. He'd worked hard. He'd been strong enough and smart enough to carve out a place where he belonged. Alone save for a one-eyed stray, he had survived in a strange city where he could easily have become one of the lost souls that drifted through the shadowed alleys where the sun never reached. Choosing to leave Zaphias had given him a chance to come into his own. He would always have his scars, but he had discovered his strength. The good days when those things balanced in his favor came more and more often.

That morning, riding around with Flynn, he knew it was a good day. The sun had risen high enough that its light fell in a warm sheet through the window to blanket his arm. Its heat counteracted the chill from the AC, and he basked in it, feeling more relaxed than he had in days. The anxiety that had come over him yesterday seemed a distant thing. The past he'd run from felt almost as distant as if it was a story he'd heard from someone else's life. Out in the warm sunlight, it wasn't quite real and it lacked the power to hold him. Untethered by the thorny tangle of everything he'd felt and done and struggled through, he began speaking before he'd even made a conscious decision to give Flynn more of the story.

“I tried to run away twice before I made it here.”

He kept his face turned into the sunbeams, eyes on the passing streets as he talked about part of his past that he'd never shared. The first of his attempts to leave had been foiled by bad weather. He hadn't gotten far in a midwinter freezing rain. All he'd had to show for that had been a lingering cold. His second try had gone better until the cops had picked him up. They'd searched him and found his ID in his wallet. He hadn't made that mistake the third time. Wallet, phone, anything that could identify him had gotten left behind. The single exception had been the only photograph he had of Flynn, that picture of them as kids one winter from back before Flynn's dad had died. He'd kept the photo stashed with his hidden savings. Since leaving, he'd always kept it close. Were he superstitious, he'd have called it a good luck charm.

“Is that why you got that job at Hanks' store? So you could save up to leave?” The tone Flynn used was way too soft to be genuine. Yuri gave him the truth

“Yeah, that and I was looking for any excuse to be out of that house.” He turned away from the window to stare at his hands where they rested limply on his lap. “I'd have left when school started, anyway. What I did that night—”

“You didn't do anything wrong!”

There was fierce conviction in Flynn's voice. His eyes were focused on the road, but he must have seen, peripherally, how quickly that faith drew Yuri's gaze to him. His hands flexed on the steering wheel, impotent anger without a target. Yuri smiled ruefully and decided not to argue that attempted murder was still a crime.

“What I _almost_ did that night only convinced me I had to leave sooner rather than later.” Turning back to the window, he laughed shortly. “I always felt a little bad that I couldn't give two weeks' notice. I bet Hanks was pissed when I didn't show up.”

“He was worried about you,” Flynn insisted gruffly. “You should come back and apologize. Let him know you're all right.”

Yuri shrugged. He still wasn't willing to commit to going back to Zaphias, even for a quick visit. They sat in a weighty silence for a few moments before Flynn spoke up.

“If you had left when you'd originally planned...would you have told me anything? Would you at least have said goodbye?”

Briefly, he considered lying. Flynn deserved the truth, though, and since he'd been brave enough to ask the question, Yuri would answer honestly.

“I don't know.” Honestly, but not satisfactorily. He snuck a glance over to see Flynn's lips twist in a grimace. He continued on, not to make it better, but to explain. “Back then, all this was stuff that I didn't think I'd ever talk about.”

Flynn's expression barely eased as he glanced over. “Is it helping?”

“You know how it hurts to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place? I think it's like that.”

The gym was coming into view. He had to point it out so that Flynn didn't miss the turn into the parking lot. Reaching over, he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“That's enough heavy stuff for now. Come on. We'll shoot some hoops for a while before lunch. Loser buys.”

It wasn't until they were on their way inside that Yuri realized that had been the first time he'd purposefully touched Flynn since he'd arrived.

* * *

 

The rest of the day flew by. Though the peace of the morning was lost to the competitiveness that still filled him when he played against Flynn, he was left with a sense of well being. As they circled and dodged below the hoop the world felt as if it had clicked back into place. The squeaking of their sneakers on the floor, the sharp impact of the basketball as it bounced, the exertion, the taunts, the simple fun of playing with Flynn again cleared all other thoughts from Yuri's mind. He wasn't taken back to the gym classes they'd shared in high school. He didn't lose any of the four years of separation. Instead, he was wholly in the present moment, playing a one-on-one game of basketball with his best friend. Things were exactly as they were meant to be.

He'd had the forethought to bring a couple spare t-shirts so that they could shower off after working up an appetite on the court. The borrowed black tee fit a bit snugly on Flynn, but he was grateful enough for it after having worked up a sweat. As they left, Yuri tied his hair up into a ponytail. He could feel where it had already dripped down his back, soaking his shirt right over his spine, but the heat of the sunshine promised to help dry him off quickly. They weren't but a few blocks away from The Black Hole Bistro, one of his favorite restaurants, and Flynn had no objections to walking.

They passed by a few stores as they went, which they would visit on the way back: a music shop with the best selection in the city, a comics and games store where Yuri was a regular, and a little independent bookstore which Flynn expressed an interest in. Though Yuri's stomach growled at him to pick up the pace, he guided them leisurely along the sidewalk, enjoying the feel of the sun sitting warm and heavy on his head and shoulders. Flynn was taking in the city around them, and listening closely to any mention Yuri made of places he liked best and what shops weren't worth the bother.

Foot traffic was heavier than usual due to the holiday weekend, forcing them to stick close together as they walked. Several times, Flynn's hand brushed up against his and Yuri felt absurdly aware of the contact each time. When they reached The Bistro, he was actually a little disappointed to trade sunshine and inadvertent touches for air conditioning and a roomy booth. The promise of good food cheered him up.

Though they'd been arguing over which shots and steals had been fair or foul and hadn't settled on who had won, Yuri offered to treat. He surprised himself by reminding Flynn that he still owed him a meal, anyway.

Flynn didn't respond right away. It was enough of a pause for Yuri to feel a stab of uneasiness and wonder if maybe he was still a little angry, after all. Then, with a crooked smile that banished the shadow of doubt, Flynn nodded.

“I guess you do,” he said.

Even so, when the check arrived after they'd eaten, Flynn practically snatched it out of Yuri's hands.

“I'll get this since you cooked for me last night. If you make us dinner again, we'll call it even.”

“Hey, I promised to treat you. I never said anything about doing _work_.”

“Treat me to more of your home cooking.” He paused a second, then shrugged and added: “I was really glad to see you'd kept it up. You were always good at it.”

Flynn paid and they left. On the way back to the car, they stopped in to check out some of the stores like they'd planned. Afterward, as they started back to the apartment, Yuri asked Flynn what he had in mind for dinner, and they made one last stop at a grocery store to pick up ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs. He teased Flynn a little over the simple request, asking if he'd be wanting chocolate milk and a peanut butter sandwich as a midnight snack. He grabbed popcorn and sodas to carry them through the few remaining movies and shoved Flynn aside at the register when he noticed him pulling out his wallet. Yuri paid, they loaded up the groceries, and took off.

Stopping by the apartment long enough to put the food away, Yuri dashed into his room to grab a Frisbee. There was a small park within walking distance, and Yuri put a leash on Repede's collar—necessary only to keep him from getting cited—and the three of them headed right back out to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

They spent the next few hours catching up, talking about school in Flynn's case, work in Yuri's, friends, hobbies, the routine of daily life, and the odd moments that stood out in their memories. Long after Repede had tired of chasing the Frisbee, their talk continued. They settled on a bench, condensing the high points of four years into a long afternoon. They didn't talk about high school or before, only filled in the years they'd missed with each other. Yuri didn't tell Flynn everything, but he told him most of it: how he'd been homeless for a while before finding a job as a busboy, how Repede had found him and they'd learned to look out for one another, how he'd switched restaurants until he'd been taken on at one where he'd worked his way up to a position as one of the regular cooks and was now in training to become a pastry chef. He talked about bad roommates and crappy, low-rent apartments. He talked about how much he'd come to love Dahngrest.

Flynn listened and took it all in and told his own stories. He'd graduated top of their—his—high school class and gone on to college. He was looking at becoming a prosecutor, and Yuri wasn't surprised to hear it. He'd make a damn good one.

They talked until the sun started to set, and then started back for the apartment. Yuri offered to turn on one of the movies, but Flynn came and stood just outside the kitchen and watched him cook. They'd run out of things to say, but the silence was an easy one. When Yuri diced the garlic for meatballs, his hands were steady and his fingers suffered no further injuries. He called Flynn over when it was time to roll them out, and they worked side by side over the pan. Every now and again, he shifted his weight just enough that their shoulders brushed together. It was a far cry from the previous night.

Time seemed to be passing even quicker than it had earlier that day. Yuri was all too aware that Flynn would be leaving sometime after lunch the next morning, and did his best to be happy in the moment and to content himself with the thought that there would be texts and phone calls and more visits in the future. Still, he felt like he had won part of his life back and he wasn't ready for the weekend to be over. He fought the inevitable with another movie marathon. They had dinner on the couch in front of the TV and he made popcorn when he put in the second DVD. He fought off sleep as long as he could to prolong what time they had together but, at some point during the third movie, he drifted off.

* * *

 

Repede woke Yuri with a quick and sloppy lick from his chin to his forehead. Grimacing as he scrubbed his face with his blanket, he sat up and peered around the living room. He'd been lying stretched out on the couch. Flynn was sitting on the floor, his back against the middle of the couch and a book in his hand. He laid it open over his knee as he turned to smile at Yuri.

“Sorry. I'd been trying to let you sleep.”

He groaned something approaching the tone of a question before finding the words to ask what time it was.

Flynn checked his watch. “Just after noon.”

“ _What_?” That drained the last of the sleep from Yuri's brain. “Why didn't you wake me sooner?”

“I thought you could use the rest.”

“But—”

He stopped himself just shy of pointing out that Flynn was supposed to leave in just a little while. They would see each other again after this visit. Next time, he would just have to remember to set an alarm. With a sigh, he flopped back down. The realization that he'd fallen asleep sitting up and that Flynn must have laid him down and covered him with the blanket crept into his mind. He rolled onto his side and stared at the head of unruly blond hair bent once more over a book.

“You had breakfast yet?”

“No.” He turned a page. “I thought I would wait for you.”

Yuri nodded, having expected as much. He crawled off the couch and stretched. “I'll make omelets.” When he glanced back, Flynn was smiling at him.

“That sounds great.”

* * *

 

They made small talk over their lunch of omelets, avoiding heavy subjects or mention of how long it would be before Flynn could visit again. It felt awkward after the closeness they'd rediscovered yesterday. Flynn helped wash the dishes afterward, and then Yuri followed him into the living room to watch him pack. Before he knew it, Flynn was standing at the door, ready to go back to Zaphias. Yuri wasn't ready for him to leave. They said a quiet goodbye. Flynn promised to text him once he got home that night, and then he was gone. Dazed, Yuri stared at the door for a moment before he shook his head and went to drop down onto the couch.

He waited half an hour or so, until he figured that Flynn was either out of the city or almost there, then pulled out his phone. The message he typed was brief and free of his usual shorthand: 'I'd have gone to prom with you.' For a minute, he stared at the words. Would they sound like the truth or a taunt on the other end? Did they still hold true despite everything?

The memory of an implacable grip holding him down made him shiver. He thought about how a simple hug had sent him scrambling for the safety of his room four years after he'd supposedly escaped his tormentor.

Friends. The word pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. He and Flynn were only friends. Nothing more. It wouldn't be fair to even hint at anything else. He deleted the message rather than send it.

He tossed his phone to the floor and curled up tight beneath the blanket, needing to escape, if only in sleep, the wounds he'd kept bandaged for years but never fully managed to heal.


End file.
